


Phoenix

by zinke



Series: What We Didn't See [6]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-01
Updated: 2007-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: But damn it, she’d baited him. Repeatedly. Purpisefullily. Purphisfi... Okay, so Lou may have had a point earlier; tomorrow morning was definitely going to suck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another week, another installment. At this point in the series, it’s really going to work out better if you’ve read the previous installments first. This piece is set four days after the Vice-Presidential debate and the events in ‘Spin’.
> 
> Many hugs go out to caz963 for the suggestions and the beta. Thanks to everyone for the wonderful feedback.

“All right, that’s it.”

Josh squinted up at Lou from across the table, where he was haphazardly slouched in one of the hotel bar’s oversized club chairs. A rather cushy chair, if he did say so himself. “Huh?” 

“Time to call it quits, don’t you think?” she asked, her eyes darting meaningfully between his face and a tumbler set within easy reach on the table.

Once he’d finally made sense of it, he visibly smarted at her implication. “What are you, my mother?” he retorted sharply as his eyes narrowed even further. 

Lou arched an imperious eyebrow at him as she slowly pushed herself up and out of her own chair. “Suit yourself. But you’d better be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow morning’s rally.” Giving him a final disapproving look she spun on her heel and began to make her way steadily through the otherwise empty establishment. “See you at seven!” she tossed out brightly just before her figure disappeared from view.

Peering after her retreating form, he found himself inexplicably disconcerted by her parting words. After all, it wasn’t her job to care about how he’d be feeling tomorrow morning. That was no one’s job but his own. Regardless, it wouldn’t be a problem; after all, right now he felt fine. Numb. And maybe a little bit nauseous. 

All in all, it was a marked improvement over how he'd been feeling earlier in the day once he'd finally arrived in Arizona—the first time he'd had to face her since...since. Under the weight of his work, his anger and his guilt, he'd slept only fitfully these past few nights. And in the lonely dark of those sleepless hours, he'd simply assumed she was suffering, too. Yet, when he'd swept into the conference room this afternoon, there she'd been, sitting calmly, the picture of professionalism, looking absolutely beautiful. 

So what if she hadn’t once deigned to meet his eyes, and hadn’t spoken more than three non-work related words to him since he’d gotten to this god-forsaken desert? She’d looked good, damn it, and she wasn’t allowed to. And as her boss, he should know.

Sunday night was supposed to have been a celebration; Leo’d pulled off a political miracle and the campaign had the momentum it needed going into the home stretch. It was supposed to be their night of glory.

But damn it, she’d baited him. Repeatedly. Purpisefullily. Purphisfi... Okay, so Lou may have had a point earlier; tomorrow morning was definitely going to suck. 

Scrunching his eyes shut, Josh tried to clear his head by rolling them against his prickly lids. When he opened his eyes again a minute later, the glare of the recessed lighting overhead practically blinded him. Just like she did. Couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t understand anything about her.

Not that he'd ever been hitting ‘em out of the park when it came to women, but he liked to think he had a reasonably respectable on-base percentage. On-base percentage...

“Phfbpbphbff!” he snorted abruptly, the sound both deeper and louder than he’d perhaps intended because of his attempt to thwart his pathetic self-induced laughter. Trying to look nonchalant, Josh scanned the room to gauge just how badly he’d embarrassed himself. Luckily—or not, he really wasn’t quite sure—the only person left in the place other than himself was the just-this-side of legal bartender, who was now staring at him intently.

“Stupid sports metaphors,” he muttered to himself while giving the kid what he hoped was a very sober and reassuring smile. Donna would have appreciated it; hell, it would have given her fodder to tease him for weeks. And he'd have been more than happy to have given it to her.

But she wasn’t here, and very clearly had no interest in being anywhere near him now or at any time in the foreseeable future. Just like those first days in New Hampshire, after leaving the White House. Except Phoenix wasn’t as cold. And this hotel was a hell of a lot nicer than that putty-and-plaster dump outside Nashua. 

With a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, Josh raised his glass to his mouth, leaned back and waited expectantly for the bitter alcohol to hit his tastebuds. When it didn’t, he nearly crossed his eyes trying to see into the bottom of the tumbler, still resting against his waiting lips. Once he’d lowered the glass and gotten his eyeballs realigned, he found to his dismay that only a pathetic dribble remained. Tossing back what was left, he sank back into the welcoming cushions and closed his eyes, savoring the burn as the alcohol slid smoothly down his throat. 

He was startled awake what felt like only seconds later by the tugging of an insistent hand at his shoulder. “Sir?”

“Yeah?” Peeling open his left eye, he rolled it upwards to find the bartender watching him nervously. 

“Umm...I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closing.” 

“Closing?” Glancing around, he noticed that all the tables had been wiped clean, the candle on each now extinguished. And those damn blinding lights had been turned off, too—thank God. Licking at sandpaper lips, Josh raised his watch unsteadily to eye level and was stunned to find it was almost three o’clock in the morning. Scrubbing a hand roughly over his face, he diligently did the math in his head. An hour. He’d just spent the better part of an hour asleep in the hotel bar, in full view of any press or staff who might have happened to pass by. “Figures,” he muttered sullenly. At least he hadn’t drooled on the upholstery. As far as he could tell.

The bartender shifted on his feet anxiously, eyes darting between Josh and the door. “Should I get someone to help you to your room?” 

“No! No. Definitely not. No,” he said, waving his hand wildly through the air for emphasis as he planted the other firmly on the table and hoisted himself into a standing position. “Just charge everything to room...” He pulled his keycard from his pants pocket, bringing a tuft of the lining out with it, and struggled to decipher the numbers in the dim light. “…6…2…3.”

“Okay, sir.” The bartender gave him an uncertain smile. “Have a good night.” 

“Right.” After shrugging into his suit jacket, Josh stumbled his way out of the bar towards the elevators at the opposite end of the lobby. As he reached out to punch the ‘up’ button he caught sight of himself in the smooth, stainless steel elevator doors and winced at what he saw there. 

It was no wonder she’d hung up on him; he wouldn’t want to talk to anyone who looked like this, either. His complexion was ashen, with deep charcoal smudges beneath each eye; his expression was drawn, his cheeks sallow. He looked half dead; ironically, he kinda felt that way, too. He almost wished he was all the way dead, because then he wouldn’t have to feel this hollow and wretched anymore. 

With a gentle ping the doors parted, thankfully hiding his disheartening reflection from view. He forced his heavy limbs to carry him into the waiting car, then pressed the button for his floor as he slumped wearily against the closest wall. Dropping his head back carelessly, he heard rather than felt it strike the car’s faux wood paneling with a resounding thud. 

He wanted to take it back. He’d said something stupid and thoughtless four days ago, and while he wasn’t able to recall the particulars at this very moment, its amorphous specter had been haunting him all week. 

He was tired of being plagued by ghosts that simply wouldn’t listen to reason. 

More importantly, he didn’t want to have to miss her any more. 

It was an impulsive, split second decision that launched him into action, lifting him from his slouch against the wall and bringing his finger forcefully against the scored plastic button marked ‘4’. 

And before he quite realized what he was doing, he was there, pounding doggedly on her hotel room door. “Donna! Donna, let me in, damn it!”

His incessant pounding had become so automatic that he practically hit her in the face when she finally threw open the door. “Josh, what the hell are you doing here?” she hissed violently, even as she was grabbing his arm to haul him inside. “It’s after three in the morning. And...” he winced as she inhaled sharply, her gaze becoming lethal. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. You’re drunk.”

He should have been more frightened by her tone of voice, but was sadly distracted by...well, the rest of her. Standing there, hair askew in a loose ponytail, wearing nothing but a flimsy white tank top and a pair of pajama pants dotted with what appeared to be flying pigs, she looked, he thought enviously, amazing. And then, as his eyes continued their descent, he saw them. Staring at the polished crimson of her toenails, utterly entranced, he whispered, “You’re not wearing any socks.”

“Gee, Josh,” she bit out acidly, “do you think that might be because I was asleep until you showed up?”

Suddenly, he was painfully, humiliatingly lucid, as he glanced around her darkened room. “Oh.” 

She studied him silently, arms folded protectively across her chest, shoulders tensed as if anticipating a blow. “I’m going to ask you again: what are you doing here?”

“I—I don't know.” And really, he didn’t. All he knew was that he was tired and miserable, and he knew instinctively that she could make those feelings go away. 

“Then you should leave.”

“No.”

“Josh—”

“I don’t miss my assistant, Donna.” His heart shattered as he took in the look of abject hurt his words provoked. Quickly and carefully, he clarified, “I miss you.” 

Her expression was inscrutable as her eyes studied him intently–looking for what, he didn’t know. Eventually, she appeared to soften, dropping her chin to her chest as she exhaled heavily. “I miss you, too.”

Setting his hands on his hips, he let out a frustrated breath before asking tightly, “Then, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted softly, her distress evident even before she raised her pain-filled eyes to meet his own.

He gave an abrupt, inappropriate snort; a short, self-deprecating sound that rang loud in the otherwise silent room. Apologetically, he explained, “Seems to be a hell of a lot of that going around, huh?”

Donna gave a delicate snort of her own, and then offered him a wan smile. “Yeah.” He watched with mounting dismay as her smile quickly melted into a critical frown. “You okay?”

“I don't know,” he replied absently as what little energy he had left seemed to drain from his very bones in response to her simple question. “Honestly,” he defended a moment later, raising a hand in apology once he realized what he'd said, “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” Then, to punctuate his statement, he yawned. Which, his scotch-addled mind was thrilled to discover, elicited from her an indulgent smile. “‘M tired.”

“Can’t imagine why,” she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Blinking unevenly at her, Josh watched her warily through half-lidded eyes as she approached him, looking determined. “What are you doing?” 

“Putting you to bed before you fall over.”

“Donna, while I appreciate the sentiment—” He was dismayed when his comedic delivery was hampered by yet another yawn, this one longer and wider than the first.

“Josh,” she warned gently as she took hold of his elbow, “this would be a good time for you to quit while you’re ahead.”

“M’kay. Did you know this hotel has a water slide?” He allowed her to guide him further into the room, stumbling over his feet only once during the course of their brief promenade. 

“Yes, I did. Lie down, Josh.”

Blearily, he followed the point of her finger with his eyes. “This is your bed.”

“As evidenced by the fact that it’s located here, in my room.”

“I can’t sleep here.” He began to shake his head for emphasis, then, as his stomach began to roil in protest, quickly thought better of it. 

“Yes, you can,” Donna replied patiently.

Josh took an unsteady step backwards. “But it’s yours.”

“Josh, you’re not going back to your room.”

“I’m not?” he asked, utterly befuddled.

“No. I want to at least try to keep this from the press.”

“Okay,” he conceded reluctantly, “but I’m still not gonna take your bed.” He did, however, need to lie down, largely because the alternative was not going to be pretty. Turning round slowly, he struggled to maintain his balance as he searched for a suitable place to collapse… and then he saw it, beckoning to him from the inky darkness of the room’s far corner. 

“Josh—” she called ineffectually to his unsteadily retreating form.

“I’ll just sleep here,” he announced decisively, flopping bonelessly onto the overstuffed club chair he’d spotted. 

“Your back’s going to be stiff tomorrow morning.” Her cautionary words sounded far away, whether from the distance he’d put between them or from his rapidly fading consciousness, he couldn’t be certain. 

“Don’t care,” he mumbled, scrunching himself further down into the cushions in an effort to make himself more comfortable. As his eyes drifted shut, he murmured happily, “‘Cause I’m not gonna have to miss you tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t,” she whispered, her voice wobbly with emotion. As he allowed himself to drift to sleep, he felt a reassuring brush of air against his face as she carefully unfurled a spare blanket and laid it gently over him. “Now go to sleep.”

 

*fin.*


End file.
